Waiting Is the Hardest Thing

Despite my concerns on Monday, absolutely nothing has happened with regards to the serama eggs. Vera is still sat patiently upon them like Terry Wogan's wig made sentient, and interesting rustlings are still issuing from beneath her. In fact, last night I spent a good five minutes nose to beak with the sound asleep hen contemplating all of these interesting sounds. As she is utterly still, yet the eggs don't appear to be doing anything, I can only draw the conclusion that chickens can, in fact, fart. And like pregnant ladies everywhere, Vera has given up trying to remain lady like.

Betsy is missing her pal enormously. If you step outside, you are greeted with the tippy-tappy sounds of a very small chicken speeding towards you looking for company. As I type this, Betsy is sitting on a garden chair and the youngest is hand feeding her individual blades of grass. He is also regaling her with tales of Doctor Who, and she is doing a good line in 'interested'. She seems to appreciate and approve of this treatment, obviously considering herself to be chicken royalty. She can't fool me, though. I have noticed flecks of bright yellow dried on her beak and on one chickenny eyebrow. Betsy lays infrequently, and they are either tiny, five pence piece sized fart eggs or larger softies. I suspect that she has noshed a softy this morning, which is an undesirable trait in any hen but on this occassion I shall turn a blind eye. Some allowances must be made for royal chickens.

The pekins have finally made peace with being shut in to the coop until a reasonable hour, so I can now breathe a sigh of relief. Spring still has their sap rising, though, and there has been a lot of chasing and pecking order shuffling. Hilda's spell at being broody seems to have badly affected her standing in the flock, and for now she has to tolerate even her old best mate Gladys squashing her a bit. For the most part, she takes this quite well. I did have to rescue her yesterday, however, as her own egg was chasing her up the garden. Or this is how it appeared to the most disconcerted hen. In reality, the egg was firmly fastened to her ample behind by a particularly unpleasant poo. It was a team effort to free her, as she pulled one way and I another. The egg came free still attached to several feathers. Hilda turned around to examine her new waxed bits and scuttled off up the garden in high dudgeon. The egg was discreetly disposed of.

We now enter the critical phase with the serama hatching experiment. I check Vera regularly, and strain my ears desperate to hear even the merest hint of a cheep. But so far the only sounds are Vera's dubious rumblings. Today is day 19, so pipping could occur today or tomorrow.

Cross your fingers for me, eh?

February Dawns

At last, the dreaded January is banished from the calender. Hoorah! As we greet February, the snowdrops and crocuses are beginning to slowly emerge. At least they are this year, because they are safely ensconsed behing the Barrier. The hens can only eye them with longing, instead of scoffing them with abandon. Ha! In your chickenny faces, ladies!

The hens are still playing by the new rules when it comes to the border. I am, frankly, surprised. Usually they find a way around any obstacles pretty quickly. I can only assume that they are content to lull me in to a false sense of security. No doubt as soon as the border is erupting in to colour, they will break in and rampage around like a load of drunken students, demolishing all plant life in their path. No matter. For now, I am happy to imagine that this might work.

Spring is a strange thing in the chicken kingdom. While I can see spring on the horizon, I'm not expecting it's arrival for a few months yet. The chooks sense it is much closer. Hilda and Gladys have begun crouching, and their first eggs are imminent. At the moment, it's still only Purdy in lay, but any day now I expect her to have company. Combs are reddening up, the odd scuffle is breaking out and Doris is once again doing her deeply annoying baby seagull impression. Seriously, when I think about how I wouldn't dream of inflicting a cockerel on my neighbours, I can't quite believe that no-one has reached over the fence and stuffed Doris in a casserole dish. That hen can be shrill.

Over the winter, the pecking order stays static. There is little in the way of dominance displays, and Mabel very much retreats in to the general flock. But as soon as the days start lengthening, she feels the need to knock the flock in to shape. Many startled hens have been happily minding their own business only to be flattened to the floor by our Illustrious Leader. She is coming up to 3 years old, and is showing no signs of giving up her throne.

Maeve is watching the two youngest flock members keenly. Gladys seems quite content to stay near the bottom of the flock and does her best to avoid confrontation. She isn't bullied in any way, and is obviously a quiet character. The same cannot be said for Hilda. Hilda has decided that she likes the look of the upper echelons of chicken society. Purdy, Celia and Doris have all been challenged, and I can see her sizing up the world famous ASBO Chicken.

I am watching this with trepidation. Maeve is biding her time, and ignores the young upstart unless she sashays past a little too close. A well aimed hiss tends to make her sashay faster, but she doesn't break out in to a full blown waddle. This displeases Maeve. I suspect that any day now, Hilda will launch a full assault. Indeed, sometimes when Maeve is eating Hilda has the metaphorical balls to stand next to her and eat like her equal. This is currently being tolerated, which makes me distinctly nervous. I only hope that when Maeve eventually loses her patience she leaves the younger hen enough feathers to keep her warm for the rest of the winter.

I might end up fashioning a chicken jumpsuit.

A Difficult Job For The Boss

Its tough being top hen. The responsibility falls to you to align the pecking order, and keep everyone in check. When a member of your flock goes off to that great chicken coop in the sky, there is re-ordering to be done. If there was a cockerel about, he would do a lot of this work for you. However, the Convent is a chicken-bloke free zone, so all of this falls to Mabel.

Mabel is a brilliant top hen. She has just the right balance between benign care of her charges, and aggressive discipline. The others (perhaps with the exception of the social climbing Maeve) seem to respect her position, and heed her warnings. It would be over sentimental to say that the hens are missing Mini, but they are definitely aware that the position of bottom hen is now vacant. Everyone is keen for this place not to be filled by themselves.

So, today, there is a lot of pecking going on. The lower hens are sneaking up on each other and attempting to deliver a swift dig to the top of their opponents head. If the opponent wants to keep their position in the flock, they won't back down. A surprise attack often results in a surprised squawking and waddling away in to the shrubbery, though, and instantly the victim finds herself below her attacker in the social structure.

This process of re-jigging is always stressful for both the birds and anxious keeper. This squabbling can quickly escalate in to all out warfare, so I am very glad that Mabel is taking charge. Everyone but Maude is being squashed to the floor, as she asserts her dominance. No one is hurt in this display, but the squashed hen always looks a little sheepish afterwards.

The silkies pose a problem to Mabel. As the last members of the flock to be integrated, they are the most logical choice for the bottom two. They don't appear to hold ambitions of flock domination themselves, so should be easy targets. The problem is, they have long, road-runner-style legs, and can out run even a flat out pekin waddle. Mabel can't catch them. On the odd occassion that she does, she can't jump up on to their backs. They simply stand still, with their head to one side, and watch the demented ball of feathers bouncing next to them. This makes Mabel look ridiculous, but is hilarious to watch.

Mabel has apparently been working on this issue. This morning, while watching the girls in the garden, I noticed that she was stood on the rim of a large plant pot. Her stillness was odd, so it caught my attention. The others mooched around, plotting head pecking and looking nonchalent. As Margot ambled closer to Mabel's plant pot, Mabel assumed a take off position. Clever girl, thought I, as Mabel launched herself at the now-in-range Margot. With a startled 'Bok-ARK!', Margot was flattened. Mabel pinned her for a few seconds, and then dismounted her underling. She strolled off with a satisfied swagger, with the other hens as an audience. Kiki approached her stunned sister, still splatted in to the mud. Margot shook herself and stood up, and the two silkies began a low chuntering, no doubt discussing this new development.

Mabel reigns supreme.

Poor Mini

I noticed yesterday that Mini had odd little scabs on the points of her comb. After a thorough inspection, I came to two possible conclusions. Mini either had fowl pox, a non lethal but possibly scarring illness, or one of the other hens was duffing her up. After a brief trip out today, Mini's comb had signs of fresh blood. One of the other girls had decided to really give Mini a hard time. The nasty wench.

I don't know who it is, as when they're outside free ranging there is no sign of nastiness. I suspect that the attacks are happening when Mini is cornered in the coop. If Belinda wasn't welded to the nest, she'd be my number one suspect. As it is, I can't pin down the culprit.

It could be Mabel. However, as top hen she's never really resorted to bashing up her subjects, preferring to chase them away from the treats if they get a bit uppity, and occasionally delivering a deliberate disciplinary peck. Sustained attacks aren't really her thing. She'd much rather eat a lot and poo copiously than get too physical.

So, maybe it's Maude. Maude has always been more involved in the chastisement of the younger girls, but again I don't see this level of viciousness being in her nature. Maude is essentially Mabel's hench-chicken, carrying out diabolical deeds under advisement from Don Mabel.

Doris is definitely a contender. As a lower hen in the pecking order, it makes sense that she'd want to keep Mini in her place. Being as though her best pal Lindy has gone all hormonal and psychotic, she might well turn to bullying as a way of keeping her status.

It's not Maeve. Maeve couldn't even reach the top of Mini's head, so she's in the clear.

Now I have to find a way of disguising the blood. Chickens seem to go crazy at the sight of it, and generally once blood has been shed they all become a bit mental. Blood lust in chickens is particularly unpleasant, and when the girls are shut into the coop at night Mini would have nowhere to hide. So now I need something that tastes foul and covers the colour. You can buy anti peck sprays, but this being a sunday afternoon my chances of finding anywhere open are slimmer than slim. For tonight, Mini will be wearing granny smelling talcum powder on her head. Yes, she'll look ridiculous, and smell like old people, but hopefully no one will eat her from the comb down.

The pecking order

When I just had Maude and Mabel, I used to think that Maude was the top hen. She seemed the most confident, the most likely to come haring up the garden for treats, and the most likely to land on visitors shoulders, scaring the crap out of them. Mabel was more aloof, preferring to watch all of her sisters shenanigans from a distance. Even when we threw Doris and Belinda into the mix, I still thought that Maude ruled the roost. Both of the older chooks gave the newbies a bit of a chase and put them in their place, but it was still Maude that was the show off. I have since learned that an outgoing personality has absolutely nothing to do with hen hierarchy.

Once Delilah and Mini arrived, it became apparant very fast that Mabel was top hen. She strutted around, hackles raised, bellowing at the top of her lungs her displeasure at these new chooks being in her territory. She herded the other three members of her flock away from the interlopers, and anyone who tried to make friends with them got a severe duffing up. Her favourite game became chasing the new girls around the greenhouse in a Benny Hill stylee.

Within a month of the new arrivals, the pecking order was established. Mabel is top hen, and gives the others the occasional peck on the head just to remind them. Next comes Maude. Doris, Belinda and Delilah seem to be somewhere in the middle, and poor little Mini is at the bottom.

Being bottom hen is a bit rubbish. She has to eat last, go to bed last and rarely gets any of the treats. Belinda is particularly fond of grabbing a beakful of her neck feathers if she gets too close, and Doris thinks chasing her is the best fun ever. Upsetting as this can be to watch, it's normal hen behaviour. Mini isn't mature yet, so she automatically has less importance in the flock. Hopefully, when she comes into lay, she'll grow some metaphorical balls and peck back, and they'll learn to leave her alone. She is, already, more integrated in the flock than she was, and is beginning to steal bits of bread and tear off up the garden with them. My little girl is growing up, and learning that being a devious bitch might be the only way of getting her fair share. Good on her.

A recent development in the pecking order involves Mabel jumping on the others' backs, in imitation of a cockeral. The first time she did this, Doris let out a bewildered squawk. The second time, she crouched. I presume that this is just Mabel asserting her authority, and not an indication that I have a rampant lesbian chicken on my hands. Time will tell.